Unexpected good fortune might yet result from the Eskom shenanigans, debacle or tragedy (you choose). When yet another power cut plunges us into darkness and techno silence — no fridge humming, no buzzing computer and no working TV — this is the time to enjoy candlelight and books.
One might even think publishers knew what was coming as more than 50 novels, in English, by local authors were published last year. And it is not only a numerous, but also an extraordinarily rich and diverse crop. Only a few can be mentioned here in an attempt to give some idea of what is now available.
In an interview last year, Niq Mhlongo remarked: “Fiction … is the only cure I know for loneliness, shame, sorrow and fear.” It is also often thought-provoking and amusing. This latest batch elaborates on the ongoing journey of discovery, both personal and in the life of the nation, reflecting all our people from (white) Afrikaners, and other white groups, through to the newly arrived immigrants.
Novels are always about personal relationships, one way or another, but for those who like the more specific subset called “love stories” this year’s lists are strong in heart.
In no particular order, these include Fanie Fourie’s Lobola (UKZN Press) by Nape ‘a Motana, an amusing romp, reminiscent of HE Bates, comic, sensuous and deceptively lowbrow; Flyleaf (Penguin Books) by Finuala Dowling and Past Imperfect (Penguin Books) by Emma van der Vliet both deal with surviving the demise of a relationship, both gems of wit and style; Emily Green and Me (Umuzi) by Kathryn White, sassy and sussed, charts a bizarrely improbable, but freshly written, journey of the heart; and then there is JM Coetzee’s Diary of a Bad Year (Harvill Secker) in which an ageing but attractive academic lusts after the tender care of an available wench/amanuensis. But this is only part of a much wider and deeper book.
Novels that touch on the dark side of relationships are When a Man Cries (UKZN Press) by Justice Mahala and Holy Hill (Umuzi) by Angelina N Sithebe. These are debut novels and both address, with considerable gravitas and passion, issues relating to traditional gender roles, as well as many different forms of abuse.
There is a mighty, and growing, wave of books that explore the previously hidden secrets of South African politics, past and recent, as well as the moral responsibility of individuals in this context. Some of these might be loosely categorised as Truth and Reconciliation Commission novels in that they deal with appalling crimes and corruptions.
Bizarrely, they often read like thrillers in which the mystery resides not so much in who did it, but what the crime was. And what else was being hidden, often in a conflation, or confusion, of the personal and the political. These include Blind Faith (Human & Rousseau) by Barbara Fölscher; The Fence (Human & Rousseau) by Andrew Gray; Blood Rose (Oshun) by Margie Orford; Six Fang Marks and a Tetanus Shot (Jacana) by Richard de Nooy; and No Man’s Land (Umuzi) by Carel van der Merwe. All of these are excellent.
In more abstract narrative form, Ceridwen Dovey in Blood Kin (Penguin Books) addresses issues of tyranny and how individuals respond to it. Letepe Maisela’s The Empowered Native (Sizwe) looks at the need for reconciliation between black comrades who have fallen out with one another.
For those who would prefer guilt-free, or at least less tortured and conflicted rambles down history lane there are good reads on offer: AmaZulu (Kwela) by Walton Golightly (and yes, this is another hymn to the Zulu nation, but very enjoyable); Time Pips (Umuzi) by Nicholas Ashby (rather odd and delightful); Primary Coloured by Brent Meersman (for those addicted to politics); and The Empowered Native by Letepe Maisela, which tells the story of two youths who went into exile after the June 1976 uprising in Soweto. Full of fascinating detail, it is a story that needs to be told before the born-frees forget entirely how they came to be “born free”. (It’s the former history teacher in me that makes me mention this novel twice.)
Despite many problems in South Africa there are some things in which we can rightly take pride and one of these, in my opinion, is the forthright and open debate that is reflected in many of the novels of last year. Moral responsibility in the “TRC” novels, as well as questions of identity and a viable set of values in our continuing and accelerating transition, recur in several novels. In the middle of urbanisation, global culture and the shifting seas of tradition and Westernisation who are we now?
This question is squarely addressed in When a Man Cries by Justice Mahala, Holy Hill by Angelina Sithebe, Coconut (Jacana) by Kopano Matlwa and After Tears (Kwela) by Niq Mhlongo. The last two of these are written in lighter vein, Mhlongo’s often hilarious.
Interestingly, though, current issues such as the devastation caused by Aids, the spectacle of Zimbabwe’s misfortunes, the land question, lack of housing and other delivery and climate change have not surfaced. But racism is there, still with us, as before.
It is dealt with very specifically in several novels, notably The Remittance Man (UKZN Press) by Michael Worsnip in which a young man, considered too dark for his family, is paid a large amount of money to stay away. And Pamela Jooste’s Star of the Morning (Doubleday) tells the tale of two young coloured sisters whose lives are constrained by their birth. In The Good Luck House (Solo Collective) by Sherin Ahmed we get a rare look at the life of a poor Indian Muslim woman and the prejudices in her corner of Durban.
So, with these and others to choose from, back to candlelight and novels. I’d strongly recommend a trip to the library and/or bookshop. And if your library doesn’t have the book you want, put in a written request.